


prince

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Blowjobs, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, cumplay kinda, handjobs, if that's even the right tag it's really just smut but with a lot of feelings about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto never really understood how love and sex are supposed to be parts of the same thing.</p>
<p>He understands now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prince

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a discussion of that Prince Animage poster where Makoto and Haruka look like they're lying on the floor covered in cum. Began as a silly exercise in smut writing, quickly became a very serious exercise in smut writing.

There’s a drop of cum sliding down the side of Haruka’s awed face, skirting the sculpted edge of his cheekbone and tracing the shadow of a strand of dark hair come undone in the excitement. Makoto is struck by how much he wants to catch the drop and lick it off his own clumsy finger. At least he’d always thought of them as clumsy; too forceful, no finesse, just like the rest of him. They had none of the grace of Haruka’s hands, none of his lyric beauty.

But they’d just made that happen, hadn’t they? Made Haruka’s movements stutter and lose their grace for what seemed like the first time. These long, strong fingers tightened just so when he recognized Haru’s breath catching, this wrist pumped faster and faster from the desperate need to get Haru off. This eager grasp pulled those gasps from that quiet throat, and finally welcomed the hot splash of semen across their broad palms, down Makoto’s chest, and this one drop as far as Haru’s own face.

_He must have been holding it in for a long time to get that kind of distance_ , thinks some terribly unromantic part of Makoto’s mind, remembering times when he’d gone too long between furtive sessions alone under his covers and had splashed himself in the eye or, on one memorable and mortifying occasion, the ceiling.

Could it be that even the boy with the fathomless distant eyes and the stroke that captivates strangers felt the same hot tension in his groin when he lay awake at night? Makoto had always thought this sort of thing would be below Haru somehow. Even now, with the other boy’s cum drying sticky on broad tan fingers Makoto has trouble imagining that Haru could be weak enough to succumb to want the same way he does. Too much effort, surely.

Makoto is aware that he might be losing his mind. He can’t seem to remember for certain how they got into this situation. Even now the memory of how Haru’s cock felt in his hand is fading. It must have been soft, like the rose petals of his skin (now that he’s felt it, all of it, he’s ready to testify to the benefits of good hydration); it must have been perfectly proportioned yet surprisingly firm and strong, to suit the rest of him. It’s no use though, he wasn’t paying attention to his own senses, too caught up in the wonder in Haru’s face. Makoto wants to beg for a do-over, he wasn’t ready, this time he’ll pay proper attention. If it never happens again he wants to be able to remember every detail.

(-If it _does_ happen again, he wants to find out how Haru’s cock tastes, too. He’s confident it wouldn’t really sear against his tongue, only in his mind does it burn brand-hot, but he needs to be sure. Makoto needs to see it glistening with wetness from his own mouth, wants to hope that Haru could find that sight more beautiful than water just for a moment-)

Haru hasn’t spoken a word since Makoto’s first fumbling stroke of his cock. ( _It should have been perfect, I should know what to do with one of those at least!_ ) Not a real word, anyway; after years together every sound Makoto had thought the other boy could make is ingrained in his subconscious, down to the noise it makes when his lips part to form a word he doesn’t want to say, but the last few moments have added an entire new category of half-caught breaths and soft, desperate noises. Now Haru sits with his back against the outside of the tub, looking at Makoto like he’s never seen such a thing before. His skin is still wet from the bath he’d just stepped out of when Makoto stumbled in. But Makoto knows not every drop there is water; some are fresher, cloudier, thicker.

He looks like a prince, albeit a disheveled one, freshly anointed in his own cum. He always looks like a prince. Makoto feels blessed to have the rest of Haru’s fluid pooling on his chest. It’s still warm. There’s so much of it. He wants to trail his fingers through it and paint it across his own body, but he suspects that might be crossing some nebulous boundary of weirdness even beyond the boundaries they’ve suddenly discarded today.

It had been Haru who took the first step across that line. Makoto is sure of that, even though in the heat of the moment he’s not sure he can explain why everything happened the way it did. He’d come over, grumbling as usual about Haru leaving the door unlocked even here in Tokyo, and Haru had been waiting there in front of the draining tub, still naked, rivulets of water running down his clean soft skin. It was nothing Makoto hadn’t seen before, except for the look on Haru’s face, which had none of the usual faux-annoyance at being interrupted.

And when Makoto teased him about getting a cold, Haru had asked him to dry his hair. Held out a towel to him, a new one he’d never seen before, soft and fluffy and probably bought just for this Tokyo apartment. Let Makoto move around behind him to avoid the questions his intense blue gaze were raising, leaned back into the large hands toweling through his hair to let Makoto’s strong fingers rub the fabric harder against his scalp.

And when Makoto let the towel drop to Haru’s shoulders so he could run his fingers through that black soft hair himself (to check if it was dry, of course! not just that he’d always wanted to!) he imagined that he could feel Haru’s contented hum through his fingertips like the purring of a cat. He’d let his fingernails dig in just a little, thinking of scratching the cats back home behind the ears, and Haru had sighed like letting go of a long-held breath. Makoto tried it again, running a thumbnail along the contours of Haru’s skull, following the dark locks from the messy part atop his head down the side to the nape of his neck.

Two fingers scratching, three, the nostalgic smell of Haru’s shampoo and the black silk parting for his fingers and curling wetly through his hand. Haru’s entire weight leaning back against him. He remembers the damp from Haru’s still-wet skin seeping through his clothes, which are now lying in a pile after being discarded by mutual unspoken agreement. And finally, when he moved back to let go and give Haru one last chance to back out of what he already knew he wanted, Haru reaching back to grasp the hand not buried deep in his hair and gently placing Makoto’s large, unsure fingers over Haru’s own suddenly stiff cock. From there, he’d just done what made sense.

They’ve always taken every step towards growing up together. Maybe this is no different.

Makoto had never really thought about specific real people that way before. From the hints he’d gotten in overheard conversations between the other boys or bits of video he saw online before closing them in mortification, sex seemed like it was supposed to be about overwhelming lust for a mysterious other, about convincing someone to let you take your pleasure from them. He couldn’t deny that abstractly this sounded pretty enjoyable late at night when his cock throbbed and ached for anything harder faster more, but he couldn’t imagine what sort of real person he could see that way while also loving them in all the ways he already understood. It didn’t seem to make sense together, to love someone’s heart and also lust to conquer their body. Imagining himself thinking about anybody the way the boys in the locker room talked about the girls in their magazines left his blood cold and his cock flaccid.

But this, he can understand. Of course the first person Makoto ever brought to orgasm would be Haru. It wasn’t so different from handing him the other half of his popsicle before he asked, or finding a new seafood restaurant to invite him to in order to see the delight in his eyes. The warmth of Haru’s cock in his hand hadn’t felt like an invasion, just a new beautiful aspect of his familiar, beautiful friend. Giving to Haru is only natural; giving to Haru is one of the greatest joys in his life.

And, he’s pleased to find, it’s also incredibly, overwhelmingly hot. When he thinks of the low groan that rose from the back of Haru’s throat just before he shuddered and came hot and thick all over Makoto, he can feel an answering pulse shoot through his own dick. _That’s me, I did that. I can make him feel like that_. Right now he can’t imagine anything that could possibly be more arousing than that knowledge.

Sometimes it’s Makoto’s job to speak the words that need to be said, to open a space for Haru to do the same, but Makoto can’t think of anything to say but “You’re amazing, Haru-chan” and “Please please let me do that again” and “You can’t imagine the things I would do to make you smile.” And, he hopes, Haru already knows all of that.

So instead he smiles disarmingly and reaches for the showerhead. He’s not sure he really wants either of them to be clean of the proof just yet, but maybe it would be best to give them both one last opportunity to pretend it didn’t happen. Not that he feels ashamed at all; in a way he feels more comfortable than he’s ever felt. But Haru must be working this through in his head too, and Makoto doesn’t want to make that decision for him. “Do you want to wash off, Haru? Or would you rather take another bath?”

Instead, Haru grabs his wrist before he can touch the showerhead. Makoto flinches, unwillingly reminded of the time they’d fought. What if he’s misunderstood Haru as badly as he did then? They’d always gone with the flow with eachother, always able to trust their mutual understanding, and, well, he’s still covered with the proof that Haru’s body enjoyed that, but what if-

“Dummy,” Haru says calmly but firmly, grip on Makoto’s arm not loosening.

“Eh?” Makoto blinks, before catching Haru’s glance towards the brunette’s cock. Makoto’s never seen it so swollen and hard. He’d been well aware he was getting an erection, it was hard to overlook, but it hadn’t seemed important. Haru’s was important. The heat in his own cock had grown with every stroke of Haru’s, much more than it ever had when he pulled on himself in the dark of his own bedroom. “Ah, don’t worry about that, you don’t have to-”

“Stupidhead,” Haru says again, more insistent. Makoto wants to tell him to stop talking like when they were five, because he remembers when they were five and that’s really not what he wants to be thinking about right now, but he’s having even more trouble forming words now that Haru’s looking deep into his eyes and scowling harder the more he tries to explain that _really_ it doesn’t matter he did it because he really wanted to and Haru doesn’t need to be questioningly brushing his fingertips against Makoto’s foreskin and _ohgod_

“Okay?” Haru asks this time, softly, and the only fair thing Makoto can do is whisper back “Please.”

Haru kneels before him, looking thoughtful. His fingers are so much softer than Makoto’s have ever been, even though they’re still wrinkled from the bath. Makoto knew this before, he holds that hand almost every day, but the difference hadn’t been so relevant before those fingertips were pushing his foreskin back over the wet head of his cock to free it. He’s too sensitive to be touched there so boldly, and he has to stifle a gasp with the back of a hand.

Haru scowls at him. “It’s not like I’m not going to know,” he says. “Don’t hide.”

Reluctantly, Makoto lowers his hand. It still feels like there’s something on his face though. Haru’s looking at him oddly, distracted, although one hand is tracing lightly up and down his stiff cock as well, grasping just barely tight enough to move the skin. With the other hand he gently wipes something off of Makoto’s face - it’s cum again, Haru’s cum, it must have been on Makoto’s hand. It’s everywhere. Haru came so strong, so hot, the _feel_ of it-

Watching the other boy’s face intently, Haru touches the cum-laden finger to Makoto’s lips, and Makoto gasps, just enough to take the fingertip into his mouth. It’s not as salty as he had expected. It’s not exactly delicious, but remembering what it is and what it means, he sucks on it, forgetting to be self-conscious. Haru pushes the rest of his finger into Makoto’s wide warm mouth indulgently, following the pull of Makoto’s lips and tongue as Makoto eagerly takes the proof of Haru’s orgasm into himself.

When the finger is clean down to the base, Haru gently guides Makoto to lean his head and shoulders back against the wall and eases a knee between Makoto’s legs, spreading them apart on the cool tile floor. As gently, he starts to pull his finger out, questioning, and Makoto unhesitatingly increases the pull of his mouth until his lips touch the first knuckle. Haru’s fingers are skinny, but so long that Makoto can feel it brushing near his throat. They’ve spent so long in eachother’s minds, Makoto is enjoying letting Haru be in his body as well. It feels right, this surrender. More than this and he’d have to be sensible and make sure nobody got hurt; for now he can sate the urge with just a finger.

Haru’s eyes are trembling again. It would be worth it just for that. He’s so beautiful, he has no idea. Makoto is pretty sure everybody who meets Haru feels the same desire to please him just to watch the beauty of his reactions on the rare occasions he shares them. He’s glad for that. By himself, he would never be able to make Haru as happy as he wants him to be. But for right now, selfishly, he wants this to be one thing that only he gets to do.

Maybe he tipped his hand too strongly, though, because Haru looks away and down, turning his attention back to Makoto’s cock. It feels so hard and straining, even a light grasp from Haru’s spare hand makes Makoto moan. He’s sure Haru can feel it vibrating through the finger still resting in his mouth, reverberating down to the bone. Haru strokes again lightly, apparently trying to work out how to reverse the motions he’s used to performing on himself, and Makoto closes his eyes so he can focus on the twin feelings of Haru’s soft hand enclosing his cock and his own mouth welcoming Haru’s finger.

Haru’s hand slows, moves down to cup his balls instead. One thumb slowly massages him. It’s warm and sweet and makes the coiled arousal in his belly rise up swaying slowly like a cobra but it’s not enough, he doesn’t feel any closer to coming. He thinks of asking why Haru stopped stroking, but before he can form a sound Haru is laying the next finger from the other hand against the corner of Makoto’s mouth, questioningly, and Makoto can’t help but be obligingly distracted. He parts his lips with pleasure and Haru rewards him by swiping the finger along his lip, smearing the saliva that’s leaked out during Makoto’s eager sucking. He feels the gentle pressure along the line of his mouth and wonders what kissing Haru would be like. They still haven’t kissed. That will be another conversation. For now, he pulls that finger into his mouth alongside its neighbor and runs his tongue up the groove between them, marvelling at how it makes him feel. (How many of Haru’s fingers could he take in his mouth, he wonders? How many would feel like enough?)

Makoto’s heavy-lidded bliss at the taste of Haru’s fingers is suddenly jolted by the feel of something warm and wet across the swollen head of his cock. When his eyes refocus, he can see it’s just what it felt like - Haru’s tongue, run experimentally over the glans to lap up his precum. His dick twitches hard enough that even Haru notices and flicks his own gaze upwards to meet Makoto’s, eyebrow arched, seeking approval.

“Haru…” Makoto whispers, letting Haru’s fingers fall from his mouth, and the breathiness surprises him. Nagisa told him once that it sounds like a prayer when he says Haru’s name; he doubts this is the case when he’s scolding the other boy about jumping into fishtanks, but he’s sure it’s true now. It feels like one. _Please, please, Haru. Stay with me, be with me. Let me share everything with you. Figure this out with me_. “Please…”

Haru smiles, knowing and sarcastic at first, then small and soft and genuine as he looks away; it’s not clear he knows he’s doing it. Makoto wants to stop him to preserve that smile for a moment longer, but then his lips part and Makoto watches awestruck as his cock disappears slowly into that warm, wet mouth, so narrow it seems impossible that something as swollen and aching could fit. Haru’s lips are stretched thin around it, pink with effort. He’s only taken in half of it and already Makoto feels like he’s drowning.

“Hhhharu.” It comes out as a gasp, even though Makoto means it very seriously. It can’t be comfortable for Haru, his mouth so stretched out, having to taste Makoto’s dick ( _oh god, that’s his tongue, I can feel his tongue moving against me_ ). He doesn’t want to hurt Haru, not ever. Not even for something that feels as good as this, wet and slick and hot. “You don’t have to-”

Haru cuts him off with a glare, pulling his mouth off with a pop just long enough to lick wetly up the bottom of Makoto’s shaft, never taking his eyes off Makoto’s. It’s the same “do I ever do anything I don’t want to do” look he gives when Makoto apologizes for asking Haru to go shopping with him, but coupled with the feel of soft hair brushing the inside of Makoto’s thighs, that fierce assertion of intent stops Makoto cold. He means it. Of course he means it, but Makoto is always struck dumb by the little glimpses he gets that Haru feels all the same things he does.

Haru plunges his mouth back down, going a little further this time now that the skin is wet and slick enough for his lips to slide more smoothly, and Makoto hopes the neighbors aren’t home because he’s keening low and hungry, making noises he didn’t know he could make. This boy who gives him so much, who always takes care of him. This boy whose innocent-looking lips are tight against his cock, whose fingers that usually cut smoothly through the water like it’s parting for him are now parting Makoto’s lips again.

Makoto feels like his heart is swelling as much as his balls are under Haru’s ministrations. He brushes Haru’s bangs off his forehead with one hand, trying to convey his thanks. Haru’s eyes close like a pleased cat and he leans into the touch very slightly, not letting it interfere with the slow pump of his mouth. Of course, this had all started with Makoto’s fingers in his hair, hadn’t it?

He eases the hand through the soft strands again, careful not to pull, scratching gently at the scalp beneath. Haru murmurs appreciatively, so soft that Makoto could swear he’d imagined it if the sound wasn’t humming straight up his cock, bringing him closer to that precipice he’d never crossed with another person. His hand shakes, accidentally tugging at Haru’s hair, and Haru groans so loud that Makoto can’t help but clench his fingers tight, black silky hair his only lifeline to sanity.

He’s so close; he could never last long like this. Not with the sweetness of Haru’s mouth, so rarely used even to talk to another person, not with the steady determination of Haru’s blue eyes now turned back up at him. Not with the brush of hair on the muscled insides of his thighs, so sensitive from never having been touched. Haru’s free hand slowly caressing his balls builds him up and the wet noise of Haru’s lips fucking their way up his cock pulls him towards the edge.

He can hardly breathe properly but he needs to warn Haru that it’s coming. “Haru-” It comes out like a sob. Haru seems to understand anyway. He pulls his mouth away, shifting his hand up to grasp the base of Makoto’s shaft to finish him off. Makoto is grateful, much as he misses the feel of it; there’s no way he could deal with coming in Haru’s mouth, not when they haven’t even talked about this. (He still doesn’t know where to even begin, but whatever this means for them, he wants to hear Haru say it.)

Then Haru is up over him, pulling quickly at his cock and pressing his forehead to Makoto’s, and Makoto’s resolve crumbles. He always thought seeing stars was a metaphor, but there are bright flashes on the edge of his vision pulsing in time with his release. He thinks he might be screaming; he’s grateful for Haru’s fingers blocking the sound, only slowly easing their way out of his mouth once his cock has completely stopped spurting cum. All he can see is Haru’s face. For a moment, he’s not sure he believes in anything else.

“Was that okay?” Haru asks quietly, once Makoto finally comes back to earth.

Makoto can’t help but laugh, kindly but with his whole heart. Haru’s startled for a moment, but quickly starts laughing too, his rare miracle of a laugh echoing through the bathroom. He rolls over off of Makoto to lie on the floor next to him and in that brief moment of transition, Makoto sees that he’s covered in cum too now, thick white splashes of Makoto’s release now decorating his lean body. The breath catches in his throat.

“That was really wonderful, Haru,” Makoto tells him once he can breathe again, resting his hand lightly against Haru’s shoulder just to feel connected to him. In some ways he’s still never grown up, he thinks; when something happens that makes him feel unsure, he wants to touch Haru, to make sure that his anchor is still there. He’s glad to know it still works. “Thank you.”

“... I thought so too,” Haru says after a moment. He doesn’t look away, though, and Makoto knows he’s just still working through the words, so he waits. “I hadn’t really planned it out but I always thought, ah. I wonder. And you seemed to feel the same, so when I saw you today I decided okay, let’s try it. If it’s with Makoto, it’ll be all right.”

“Haru…” After a brief but lovely moment of bliss, Makoto’s brain suddenly catches up with everything Haru just said. “Eh? How did you know I felt the same? I didn’t know that until today.”

Haru rolls his eyes. “You always make simple things too complicated. It was obvious.”

Makoto’s not really sure what to say to that; he’s afraid it might be entirely correct. But there’s still more he needs to understand, even if it might all seem simple to Haru. “... Haru, can I kiss you?”

Haru snorts. “I gave you a blowjob and you don’t know if you can kiss me?”

“Haruuuu!” Makoto clamps his hands over his eyes in mortification (after checking, for once, that they’re not covered in semen). “You can’t just say it like that.”

“Blooooowjob.”

“Haru!”

“Fellatio.”

“Haru, no!”

“Penis penis penis.”

“You are the worst,” Makoto moans, but there’s laughter behind it. It’s okay, they’re okay. Haru’s still Haru, the teasing Haru that he only gets to see when they’re alone and he isn’t afraid because he’s not afraid to talk to Makoto. Maybe for him nothing’s different either. It doesn’t feel like they’re different, maybe just a little more.

Haru rolls over just enough that he can lift his head above Makoto’s. His eyes aren’t trembling this time; they’re clear blue and steady, a beacon to lead Makoto to where he’s meant to be. At least that’s the last thought to flit through his mind before Haru’s lips are on his, soft and warm.

The world fails to screech to a halt or shrink to a speck between their clumsily joined lips. It reminds Makoto more than anything of the feeling of taking Haru’s hand after a swim. Two pieces joined together that were never really all that far apart in the first place. Life carrying on more or less as it always has, the two of them making it up together as they go along, which is just as Makoto would like it to be.

“Can we do that again sometime?” he asks after Haru parts their lips again, although he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t already know. “Both the kissing and the … other part.”

“The sex?” Haru asks dryly, and Makoto knows it’s just to make him cringe at the directness. (He cringes anyway; he can’t really help it. It’s proving difficult to be romantic around Haru.) “Aren’t they parts of the same thing anyway?”

“Not for everybody!” Makoto protests. “But ... I think maybe it is for me. So can we?”

“I don’t mind,” Haru says, in the way that means yes and that Haru knows Makoto knows means yes. “I want another bath first though. Go get us some clean towels.”

Towels, plural. He’s never gotten to share this tub with Haru before. He really must be pleased.

“Ah, sorry for making such a mess of you…” Makoto’s glad Haru can’t see his face turn beet red thinking of it as he turns and walks to the door. “You didn’t have to do that, you could’ve just let me get it on myself.”

“You seemed to enjoy being covered in my cum,” Haru shrugs, and it’s too soon for the bolt of electricity this sends to Makoto’s groin. “I wanted to see if I felt the same.”

“...and?” Makoto hovers hopefully at the door.

“Get the towels or you’ll never find out,” Haru replies pleasantly, and then the noise of water rushing from the faucet is too loud to ask any more questions. It doesn’t matter; Makoto always knows anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I would probably have liked for my first foray back into fandom after a very long time to have been something a little more dignified, but these boys stole my heart. And while I started this as a joke, there's something I quite like about the idea of the two of them not going through the romantic checklist in quite the traditional order but with a depth of love and trust that most of us can only hope for.
> 
> I was going to put in a disclaimer that I don't really think that this is the most likely way for them to first move into more romantic territory, but even if it was, there's nothing to be ashamed of.
> 
> Eternal thanks to everyone on twitter who supported me in actually finishing and posting this and to poka especially for betaing.


End file.
